


In the Ache of Her Reply

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Character of Color, Male Character of Color, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Painplay, Porn Battle, Rare Pairing, Submission, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cougar returns home, and Aisha reminds him that he's Carlos, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Ache of Her Reply

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Она причиняет боль](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592557) by [Heidel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heidel/pseuds/Heidel)



> Written for Porn Battle XIII (Lucky Thirteen) and [posted on the Dreamwidth entry as well](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/46205.html?thread=7294333#cmt7294333).

Aisha threads her fingers through Carlos' hair, skimming her nails over his scalp and forming a fist at the base of his skull. "Who do you belong to?"

His glare is every inch the soldier, Cougar instead of Carlos, his body taut and lean and resistant to Aisha's tug. 

"Tell me," she whispers in his ear, and viciously twists his nipple to get _a_ response, even if it's not the one she's looking for. He protests with a low sound, so Aisha twists his nipple again and bites his earlobe. She bites harder when she drags her mouth down to the crook of his neck and repeats, "Tell me."

His eyes flutter shut, and Carlos shivers. He's still fighting, moving against the pull on his hair, away from another pinch and twist of his nipple. So Aisha begins to push. She starts with her boot between his legs, pressing the toe against his balls. Some women wear stilettos for this, but for Aisha, it's jeans, a tank top, and her steel-toed boots. If Carlos wants something more, if she does, she makes him wear the heels. 

Her firm, "Don't," stops him from moving.

He swallows and slides her a _look_. With a smile, she brushes her lips up his throat to feel the flutter of his pulse, clamps her teeth around the tendon, and pulls his hair hard enough to make him visibly wince, refusing to be nice about this if he's going to be a brat. 

"Good boy," she murmurs, and kisses the edge of his jaw. 

He doesn't fight, but his jaw goes tight, and she can feel the wiry, tensed rope of his muscles beneath the slide of her palm. 

Aisha shrugs. "Have it your way." And backhands him. 

His head whips to the side, but he doesn't lose his balance. Carlos remains kneeling on the carpet exactly where Aisha put him when she walked in the door and noticed his hat on the couch. He licks his lips and looks at her, and she smiles with the same bloodthirsty calm that's reflected in his eyes. 

He wants it hard, then. Whatever happened, Aisha will find out later. 

For now, she tilts her neck, side to side, until her neck pops. She cracks her knuckles, too, and lets the sound hang in the air while Carlos tracks her movements, his hands clenched so tight around his own knees that his knuckles are white. 

"Don't worry, baby," she croons, tone mocking. She ruffles his hair, almost leaning in for a kiss, but bites his cheek instead. "I've got you. I know what you need."

She can tell that he's braced for the first punch, because he doesn't fall. He's not braced for the second, not when she plants her feet and strikes with the same fist, the same right hook. He falls, fingers spreading flat on the carpet, his hair wild, and he pushes himself up. 

"Uh-uh," Aisha says, and plants her boot against his arm, shoving him onto his back. 

She straddles his hips before he can recover — he's not really trying, though — and pins his too-thin wrists to the floor. She grinds against his bare cock, ignoring the discomfort that he vocalizes with another sound of protest and flicking her tongue to catch the drop of blood at the corner of his mouth. 

"I don't get my answer, you don't get to get up."

Carlos' narrows his eyes, lips tight, and Aisha can't help but smile in the face of his silence. She raises her fist, but he catches her elbow, his fingers digging hard into the joint but not as hard as he could. She arches an eyebrow and uses her free hand to thumb away the rest of the blood on his lip. 

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I could stop you," he says, plain and simple. 

Aisha rocks her hips again, riding Cougar's cock as it hardens between them. "You could try."

He answers with an arch of his eyebrow, catching her wrist and bringing her hand back to his mouth. He runs the tips of her fingers across his lips, his gaze never wavering from her face. It's almost a kiss. 

"Is that what you want?" he asks, almost too quiet to hear. 

Aisha spreads her fingers, fanning them across his mouth, and kisses him between the gaps, nipping his upper lip and sucking away the taste of his blood. 

"I want you," she says, "to tell me who you belong to."

He sighs and trails his hands up her arms, stopping to squeeze her shoulders, thumbs passing lightly over her tattoos. 

"You already know," he says, and tilts his head up when she slides her hand through his hair again, letting the strands glide through her fingers. 

She pulls, sharp enough to receive a glare, but the heat of it is defeated by the twitch of his cock, the way his hips cant up in a quiet plea for more friction. Aisha is wet, can feel it like it's soaking through her panties and jeans, so it's only fair to rub against him, press down until there's enough pressure on her clit to make her gasp. 

"Tell me."

He slides his hand between them but doesn't try to touch himself, instead offering her his own hand, giving her what he can while she's fully dressed. 

"Tell me," she says again, and digs her nails into his scalp, baring her teeth as she rides the heel of his palm. 

"Yours," he whispers, his eyes fluttering shut.

She shakes her head, shakes out her own hair as she rolls her hips the same way she would if she had his cock inside her. "I can't hear you."

He makes a sound, swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. He shudders beneath her as she trembles — from the moment, from the friction, from the way Carlos looks as she rakes her nails down his chest hard enough to leave marks. They're eye to eye, close enough to kiss, and she comes, shaking, as he says again, "Yours, Aisha. I am yours."


End file.
